Storm Front
by Sam23
Summary: Jack, Irina and a dream of what might happen, when the storm finally moves away...


Title: Storm Front  
  
Author: Sam23  
  
Email: sam23@samcole.de  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Category: Jack/Irina, Angst, Romance, AU  
  
Season: future season (end of show)  
  
Disclaimer: None of these wonderful characters belong to me – and that is a good   
  
thing…  
  
Summary: A moment of silence in the middle of the storm and words that have the   
  
power to chase the clouds away…  
  
Author's note: it's short, pretty sappy and not to mention silly, cause the show is   
  
neeeeeever gonna end this way, but I hope you like it anyway. Oh and since English   
  
is not my native language and this is my first and probably only attempt at Alias Fan   
  
Fiction and due to the fact that the fire-alarm in my apartment is broken: no flames   
  
please... *winks*.  
  
Storm Front  
  
Thunder. A loud, booming and yet gentle sound that rolls through the clouds and the   
  
rain, over the vehicles and the crowd around her and straight into her very soul. She   
  
closes her eyes and lifts her face up as cold rain hits her burning skin. She just   
  
stands there, in the eye of a hurricane of moving and shouting people and lets the   
  
water wash away the blood from her forehead and face. Every raindrop feels like a   
  
needle penetrating her skin and digging deep, deep into her flesh. But she endures it,   
  
welcomes it and somehow hopes that the rain will wash away not only the dried   
  
blood and tears, but her guilt as well.  
  
Because she is guilty.  
  
Of a lot of things.  
  
Too many things.  
  
Even through her closed eyes she can see a flash of bright light as lightning strikes   
  
again. Of course she knows it is never going to hit her, there are much more   
  
promising targets in the area, but for a moment she wishes it did.  
  
Death by force of nature.  
  
That was a sentence she could accept willingly. But the thunder that follows the   
  
angry bolt from the sky several seconds later tells her that the storm is already   
  
moving away from her.   
  
Or finally moving away from her.  
  
All a question of perspective, she thinks.  
  
A movement catches her attention, but for the first time in many years she chooses   
  
not to act or react, but just remains still, even though she suspects that the   
  
movement was caused by one of the agents trying to arrest her. But instead of the   
  
sound of clicking handcuffs she hears something equally familiar.  
  
A deep sigh.  
  
She opens her eyes and looks into his beaten face. He looks as bad as she does.   
  
One eye completely swollen, the skin around it already darkening, a deep cut on his   
  
forehead, scratches and bruises all over his face and darker stains on his already   
  
dark shirt.  
  
He looks at her, his expression neutral, but not blank. She looks back at him, but   
  
doesn't know what to say. Words can not make up for the damage she has done to   
  
his soul over the years and she knows that. So she says nothing and waits. Waits for   
  
him to give her the verdict, for him to tell her that she was under arrest and going to   
  
spend the rest of her life in a prison. And strange enough she is ready to accept it.   
  
Help save the world and be spared the death penalty. That was the deal. And she   
  
was going to honour it, most of all for her daughter's sake. At least that is what she is   
  
trying to tell herself.  
  
Around her the movement and shouting continues, sometimes gun-fire rises above   
  
the noise but it is random and starts to fade away like the last sounds of a dramatic   
  
song.  
  
It isn't over until the fat lady sings.  
  
Well, in their case it had been a man and he had been screaming instead of singing,   
  
but the result is the same.  
  
It is over.  
  
All that is left to do now, all that the agents and soldiers are doing right now is   
  
cleaning up the theatre after the audience has gone home. The part of her that is   
  
constantly on alert, that takes in every little detail, realises that everyone is   
  
instinctively avoiding them, granting them their own quiet space on this battle-field.   
  
She looks at him and into his deep, calm eyes. He seems in total control, but she can   
  
see that his hands and knees are shaking ever so slightly.   
  
"Are you okay?", she asks out of concern. Her voice, not having been used for almost   
  
half an hour, sounds strange in her ears. She expects him to laugh or snort at her   
  
question, to bellow a sharp reply, to hiss at her, that she had no right to ask him that.   
  
But most of all she expects him to walk away.  
  
But he doesn't. Instead he just shrugs, a gesture which seems oddly relaxed for a   
  
tense man like him, but charming and familiar nevertheless.  
  
"Are you?"  
  
She represses the urge to close her eyes at the sound of his gentle voice, fights the   
  
urge to let the river of unshed tears run free, but can't help her mouth twitch with the   
  
beginning of a sad smile.  
  
"This is nothing", she says and the smile on her face is suddenly mirrored on his. He   
  
nods.  
  
"I suppose we have seen worse", he agrees, his eyes darkening for a second as   
  
memories flood through his mind, triggered by the events of the past few days as well   
  
as her presence. Her eyes darken as well, but as he looks up at her again, she   
  
knows he will see not only pain in them, but something else, something she hasn't let   
  
anyone ever see this clearly.  
  
Fear.  
  
After a few seconds she casts her eyes down in shame and sorrow, angry at herself   
  
for not being able to tell him all she needs to and all he deserves to know. A hand   
  
touches her chin and lifts it up, gently and slowly and she follows its guidance without   
  
resistance until she looks back into his eyes.   
  
The neutral expression in them is still there.  
  
"A friend of yours once told me I was a fool", he says with a sigh. "Actually a lot of   
  
people did over the years."  
  
The hand falls away from her chin only to land on her left shoulder.   
  
"You know ..."  
  
He lifts his head and looks at the sky, distracted for a moment by the rain, that is   
  
getting heavier by the second. He looks back at her, his face covered with raindrops,   
  
blood and exhaustion, his hair dark from dirt and the rain, his shirt soaked and torn   
  
and dirty and yet the sight of him makes her catch her breath.  
  
But the next words stop the beating of her heart.  
  
"... they were right."  
  
Thunder booms through the upcoming night, announcing the return of the storm and   
  
unknowingly hiding the sound of her breaking heart.  
  
It is over then.  
  
But what did she expect, really? After all she had done? After all that had happened?   
  
Even if he knew *everything*, even if she told him *all* about the why and how and   
  
what for, even if she said ...  
  
" .. I'm sorry". The words are silent, not more than a whisper and for a moment she is   
  
not sure if she really had said them out loud. Her eyes drift to the ground, into the   
  
mud and dirt that made up most of her life and probably even her soul.  
  
The hand drops from her shoulder and she closes her eyes, trying to hold onto the   
  
memory of his touch, knowing that it was probably the last time she had felt it.  
  
She starts crying. Silently, not being able to hold back any longer, but hoping her   
  
tears will find cover amongst the rain-drops on her face.  
  
A second later she knows the cover was not good enough, as gentle hands wipe   
  
away the moisture from her cheeks, as arms encircle her suddenly trembling body   
  
and pull it against a broad chest. A painful cry escapes her lips, finally breaking free   
  
after years of confinement. The arms close around her tighter and she finds herself   
  
holding onto his wet shirt, burying her head into his chest, never wanting to let go.   
  
She can feel his body starting to shake almost as badly as hers. She lets go of his   
  
shirt and wraps her arms around his neck.  
  
"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry", she sobs and suddenly hears her words   
  
reflected in his voice.  
  
After a while she feels his arms losing their grip on her, his hands reaching for her   
  
arms and pushing her gently away. She fears looking up into his eyes, but knows that   
  
he feels the same way about looking into hers. This was probably the biggest   
  
challenge of her life and she was not going to back away from it. So she looks up at   
  
him, and being the first of them to do so catches him wiping away tears and rain from   
  
his face. He inhales deeply, then meets her gaze and says:  
  
"What I was trying to say is: They were right about me being a fool. But the way I see   
  
it I'd rather be a happy fool than a bitter old man."  
  
She tilts her head, not trusting her interpretation of his words.  
  
"What exactly are you saying?" she asks him carefully. He looks at her with a serious   
  
expression, pain one more time lighting his features before finally and irrevocably   
  
disappearing into a shrug and a smile.  
  
"I guess I'm just saying that we have to buy a new toaster."  
  
He leans forward and gently kisses her forehead, while she closes her eyes.   
  
Moments later the sound of pouring rain is replaced by the gentle murmuring of small   
  
streams of rain-water washing away dirt, blood, pain and guilt.  
  
As she looks into the clear night sky a few hours later, clean and rested and held   
  
loosely around the waist by gentle hands, Irina Bristow smiles. There were still a lot   
  
of things to work out, a lot obstacles to overcome, but the storm she had been caught   
  
in for so many years was finally over.  
  
The End 


End file.
